Broken Things
by beepallesen
Summary: For eight years, Sarah Williams had avoided even thinking his name, the magic of the Labyrinth reaching for her across dimensions; for eight years, the Goblin King had waited for an invitation, his bitterness growing to consume him. Now that the invitation has been issued, will they move beyond their shared past, or will the darkness consume them? M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1, Let It Burn

Broken Things

Chapter 1, Let It Burn

 _One moment, there was him. There was him, and there were her dreams, captured prettily in a crystal sphere; she saw herself dressed in all of the trappings of adulthood, but still a child underneath them. She wanted desperately to be grown-up, but she didn't truly understand what that meant and couldn't grasp all that it held._

 _And so, without a second thought, she said the words. "You have no power over me." But oh, he had power. In those moments, he had so much power over her that it frightened her. But what was said was said, and there was no looking back. That was that._

 _And just as Sarah might have called out otherwise, might just have given him power over her, she fell._

Sarah Williams awoke with a start, a layer of sweat dampening her body, sheets wrapped around her legs like so many snakes. With an angry huff, she disentangled herself roughly and jumped out of bed, fully awake.

It had been the same dream on and off for years, sometimes every night and sometimes with less frequency; fifteen-year-old Sarah, in those last moments, always making a decision the more experienced Sarah knew to be right but desperately wanted to be wrong-he was powerful, a faery king, and she was a lowly mortal girl who had no business wanting what she did. She had no business hating him as she did, for the way he'd contributed to ruining her life as she knew it. He hadn't stolen her innocence, exactly, but he had shown her what life could be. Then it was gone, out of her reach. Nothing ever compared to those thirteen hours she'd spent Underground.

It was his nature, she thought, quietly reminding herself of all she had learned in the years since she ran his Labyrinth and beat it, beat him. It was the nature of the fae to play games, to toy with mortals. "That's all it was," she muttered out loud. "It was all just a game." And, if she were being honest with herself, it was one he had likely played with countless other mortal girls. It was what he did, she knew; he distracted girls with an unachievable dream, one in which he was their slave-one in which his love was a tangible, achievable dream.

Sarah glanced at the clock, seeing that it was not long past four in the morning. "Fuck me," she muttered, knowing that she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. She never could, after the dream. She sighed, pulling on her most comfortable leggings, donning a short sleeved running top, and jerkily braiding the long, dark hair into a braid that lay down her back almost to her waist. She slipped into her sneakers and then quietly ventured out into the city to work off some of the ridiculous post-dream energy.

Jareth stared into the crystal for a long moment, his face expressionless, before heaving it at the stone wall of his study with all of his might. He'd replayed that same scene so many times he couldn't count them. He had relived the moment when the girl defeated him so many times that he didn't need the crystal to see its details. He'd learned over the years, however, having something tangible to destroy helped to relieve some of the bitter edge of the memory. He was still left angry, of course, but at least he didn't feel the temptation to take that anger out on one of his subjects in its stead.

He fell back onto the luxurious velvet wingback chair near the massive fireplace in a defeated slump, his anger burning through him in a quick flash, leaving him feeling hollowed out and without substance in the absence of its searing intensity. He'd been reliving the moment more and more lately, drained of the desire to play the games he was bound to play. Of course, he still went to those who wished away their brothers and sisters, of their own children, but there was no enjoyment in the job. He was quick to offer them their dreams, and most accepted them- those who did not fell all too soon to the growing viciousness of the Labyrinth. For after all, what was left in him but viciousness? Vicious anger that burned white hot, destroying all of that which it touched, leaving a cold emptiness behind. That was what his Labyrinth had become when Jareth ceased to care enough to shape it to his will-brutal, savage, and cold in its cruelty. "All the better," he thought. "All the better that it shape itself to match the beast that lives within me."

Jareth wanted nothing more in all the time of his existence than to force Sarah back to that moment, forcer her to relive it over and over until her mind broke, but the laws of the Labyrinth, magical laws written in fire and blood deep within the land itself, kept her from his reach. He could not appear to her in the Aboveground, and be could have no retribution unless he caught her in his lands. And oh, he would catch her. He would have his revenge or he would go mad and take all of Tír na nÓg with him in a blaze.

"Damn it all to Hell!" the King of the Goblins shouted, overcome with bitter anger. He surged to his feet, exclaiming "Damn her!" Backing up to his study wall, his voice fell to an anguished whisper, and he let his head fall into his hands as he slowly slid down the wall.

Sarah shivered against the cold, but she told herself to run through it. She knew she had felt far worse, and she likely would again. Boston in March was far from warm, but Sarah knew that as she ran and her temperature rose, she would appreciate the chill in the air.

She forced herself to breathe evenly as she sprinted to the corner, forced herself to land on the balls of her feet as her running coach had taught her. In truth, running was not her preferred sport, but finding someone skilled in the art of swordplay was never easy. Archery was more accessible, and Sarah practiced it frequently. No, most of the places that offered lessons in swordplay called themselves "samurai academies" and thought very highly of their meager ability. Sarah had been lucky to find an old man whose skill still surprised her, and she had studied under him for three years until his health no longer allowed him to actively teach her. She had always felt that the man, Eamon, had a paternal sort of familiarity and had grown incredibly fond of him in the years that they worked together. She still saw Eamon a few times a month so that he could instruct her from the sidelines, but it wasn't the full-body workout she so craved. She could have taken up classes with one of his suggestions, ex-students who had moved on to become master swordsmen in their own right, but she felt the need to keep her appointments with him, to check up on him. Nevertheless, she needed to keep herself in the best shape she could, just in case.

"Just in case, what, Sarah?" she muttered under her breath. "Just in case you find yourself toe to toe with an angry goblin king?" she thought, chuckling out loud. In all of the years past, in all of the adventures and all of the magical beings she'd encountered, he had never come to her. Still, best to be prepared.

After her experience in the underground eight years ago, Sarah had told her human friends of her adventure, told them about Hoggle, and Ludo, and Sir Didymus and his loyal steed Ambrosius, about _him_ , and they had all laughed and called her nuts. She had insisted that it was real, that her friends were real, that she still adventured with them, but nobody had believed her. "Crazy," they'd all said and soon they stopped talking to her, making sure it was known that Sarah Williams was a baby who still had imaginary friends. The reputation followed her throughout high school, until college, when she saw the opportunity for a clean slate and knew better than to tell her many stories to humans who did not believe in magic enough to feel the truth in them.

Sarah had never stopped believing, though. Never stopped seeing Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, and even the goblins. She seldom had time to adventure anymore, but that didn't keep her from frequent visits with her friends in the mirror. They mostly talked from their own sides, though on occasion they crossed over into Sarah's world to enjoy being together over a warm meal.

Though they told many stories, none of them ever mentioned the king, which was fine as far as Sarah was concerned. She saw enough of him in her dreams and was thankful that they didn't bring him up. Sarah wasn't sure when her feelings about him had changed, but she knew that over time she had come to consider him her adversary, but _not_ her villain. She was smart enough to realize that there was a difference, and smart enough to know that names have power. She hadn't dared to speak his name, not wanting to issue an invitation if she weren't ready to live with the repercussions of inviting him in. She had also avoided returning to the Underground, instead exploring her own world with her friends.

After ten or so miles of running off the nervous energy that always clung to her body after that damned dream, Sarah returned to her apartment, quickly stripped off her running clothes, and bathed. Afterwards, she stood in front of the ornate full-length mirror in her bedroom, lost in reflection. As she had showered, she couldn't keep her thoughts from straying to _him,_ couldn't help herself even now as she admired the body that had matured from girl into woman. She was physically attractive to men, she knew- she'd been eyed and catcalled by them since well before she ever wished Toby away. In recent years, she'd dallied here and there, but she never felt fulfilled. Nobody ever lived up to her expectations; they were all too gentle, too sweet, too tender. Where was the passion she craved? She hadn't found it yet, and she had quietly given up on searching for it in others, focusing instead on fitness and study, travelling and exploring whenever she could.

Sarah ran a slightly trembling finger over her lips, down her jaw, and then let her eyes follow the sweep of her shoulder down to her sternum, where her fingertips lingered, feeling the frantic beating inside as she pictured another hand there, trailing over her body. Her eyes slightly unfocused, lost in the imagining, she allowed her head to fall to the side, allowed her eyes to close slightly, and sighed.

Sighed a name.  
Sighed _his_ name.

After a few long moments, as soon as she realized what she'd done, Sarah pulled her foggy brain back into clear light and focused on feeling her apartment. She stilled, her breathing slowing, and sent tiny, smoke-like probes jetting out from her mind and into the furthest corners of her home to feel for any intruders in the space, but she felt nothing untoward. She sighed, reeling the tendrils back in, and missed the shadow in her mirror.

Jareth sat against the hard stone wall, head still in his hands, amid the shattered remains of so many crystals. As he wallowed in the cold emptiness, he felt the tingle of magic across his skin and heard his name, whispered in his mind, and held his breath. It was _her_ \- -it was Sarah Williams, Champion of the Labyrinth, and she had said his name. Names have power, and he now had the opening he'd been waiting for all these years.

Conjuring a crystal, Jareth rose. Seeing Sarah standing before her mirror, naked and flushed, he paused before releasing the sphere, watched as it drifted slowly down until it was a large mirror in front of him. The mirror hung suspended in the air, showing him a life-sized and much more detailed view of the bare Sarah. His breath caught in his throat- she was glorious, all sweeping curves and soft flesh.

Mismatched eyes flashing, Jareth turned from the mirror and strode towards the door. As he went, he chuckled, the sound promising pain, and if he was lucky, a little bit of pleasure, too.


	2. Chapter 2, Broken Things

Hi all! This chapter is a short one, but we're ramping up to some good conflict in the next chapter, which will be longer (I promise)!

Thank you all for your kind and encouraging messages- they've really helped me break through a gnarly case of writers block and given me the motivation to come back to this story.

As always, none of these characters belong to me- I'm just borrowing them to toy with for a little while.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, tip your waiter, and so on.

* * *

Chapter 2, Broken Things.

The past week had been incredibly trying. Despite her constant scolding of herself for her paranoia and her insistence that nothing was amiss, Sarah had had trouble sleeping and eating, trouble keeping to her routines, trouble doing anything normal; no matter how many times she tested the space around her home and work for unwelcome creatures or their magic and came up with nothing, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. It permeated every moment of her day. She constantly worked to suppress the cold shiver of dread that seemed to have wrapped itself around her spine. Nevertheless, she had to carry on with her life.

Sitting at her cramped desk at the legal firm where she worked as a glorified secretary, Sarah stared absently at the wall across from her station as she sipped her coffee. Jack, the partner she worked directly under, was late to start the day, which meant that Sarah had a few glorious moments to herself to think. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath, thinking about _that_ morning and chastising herself for being so careless.

She had never allowed herself the freedom to think of him, had kept him firmly behind an iron door in her mind for the better part of a decade, so what had come over her? "Could be your abysmal social life," she said quietly and groaned, letting her forehead fall onto the heavy wooden desk and lightly hitting against it a few times, mutering 'Fuck, fuck, fuck," in time with her head's bounce on the hard surface.

"Heya, Williams," Jack said, striding into the office, not a hair out of place. He was always so chipper in the mornings, Sarah thought with disgust. Anyone who enjoyed waking up at this ungodly hour deserved only the worst things.

"Morning, Jack," Sarah said, grumbling and rubbing the now-sore spot on her forehead as she gripped her mug tightly, desperate to absorb all of its warmth.

"That good of a morning, huh?"

She rolled her eyes slightly. "Yeah, _sooo_ great."

"You have a long night?"

"You could say that," Sarah said under her breath, picking up a stack of messages and extending it out to Jack while she drained the last of her coffee.

"Did you do anything fun?" he prompted, ignoring the papers she extended to lean familiarly against her desk.

"No, just haven't been sleeping well," Sarah responded, waving the papers slightly until he finally grabbed them.

"Huh. Anything I can help with?" Jack said, winking.

Sarah repressed a shudder and shook her head. "Nah, thanks, I just need another cup of coffee. Be right back." As she stood up and slid past him, careful not to brush against hi lest it be taken as encouragement, Sarah sighed. She hated how interested Jack was in her. He was too good, too nice, too boring, and he never took the hint that she didn't want anything more from him than a comfortably distant working relationship where they exchanged small talk and nothing else. If she was being honest with herself, she craved something grittier and a little rougher around the edges- the squeaky-clean boy scout thing had never really done it for her. 'Well,' she thought, 'to be fair, _nobody_ has ever really done it for me.' Even as she thought it, some twisted thing deep inside of her whispered that it was a lie.

Taking the rest of the coffee in the pot, Sarah tossed the old sodden coffee filter and replaced it before pressing the start button on the machine. She grimaced as she sipped, the bitter flavour exploding over her tongue. She'd never really acquired a taste for coffee but needed the sweet energy of the caffeine to function with even a little normalcy, especially after the week she'd had.

A couple days after her ill-fated little shower, when Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, she'd used her mirror to call to her friends in the Underground. Hoggle had appeared right away, grumbling about the fairy infestation that he'd been working to get under control, when he'd seen the stricken look on her face.

"Sarah? Are you okay?" He'd asked gently, reaching his hand out to touch the mirror.

Sarah had shaken her head, putting her hand up to his, and looking through misty eyes had said "I need you, Hoggle." And just like that, he'd been there, holding her awkwardly with his shorter arms and much smaller frame, patting her on the back uncomfortably.

"What happened?" He asked, concern visible in the lines of his face.

"I had the dream again…" Sarah trailed off, shifting a little away from Hoggle's embrace to reach for a tissue.

"What, not again!" Hoggle exclaimed. "We need Didymus. Maybe he'll have answers."

Sarah just nodded and wiped at her eyes angrily. "Bring Ludo too, please."

Hoggle closed his eyes and in no more time than it took Sarah to blot the moisture away from her face, her friends were in the room.

"Sawah," Ludo said, crushing her in a bear hug before setting her back on her feet.

"My lady," Didymus bowed, removing his hat with a flourish. "Why dost thou call upon us?"

Hoggle, putting his arms out to quiet the room, answered, "Sarah has been having the dream again. I's worried that it means something bad is happening."

"We don't know that," Didymus cut in. "Our Lady Sarah has had the dream on and off for the last eight years, and it's always been unpredictable. As long as nothing has changed, I think it is most likely that the lady is in no danger."

"Ludo protect" Ludo exclaimed, a fierce look on his normally gentle face.

"Yeah, yeah," Hoggle said, turning back to Sarah. "The dreams the same. Right, Sarah? Nothing's changed."

"Well…" Sarah shifted uncomfortably.

"Sawah okay?" Ludo asked.

"My lady! Has the dream changed?" Sir Didymus cried.

"No," Sarah answered quietly, "It's just that, well, I…"

"Sarah?" Hoggle said, holding her hands in his. "What happened"

She couldn't speak for a few seconds, though her mouth opened and closed with the attempt. "I said his name," she whispered. Hoggle released her hands as if she'd burnt him.

"You shouldn't-a done that, Sarah," he said, his eyes scanning the room as if _he_ was lurking in a corner like the proverbial boogeyman, ready to jump out at any moment and gobble them all up. Sir Didymus pulled his miniature sword from its scabbard and stood at the ready. Ludo just sat there, his eyes sad, watching Sarah.

* * *

Jareth sat in his throne room, a skinny two year old wished-away in the conversation pit, as the filthy stinking goblins sang and danced around him. He hadn't been in this room in ages and he was already regretting his decision to re-open the castle to his most irritating subjects. As he lounged with his leg resting haphazardly over the armrest of his throne, tapping his favourite leather riding crop against his thigh in irritation, he pinched the narrow bridge of his nose between two long fingers.

"I need silence," he thundered, rising abruptly from his sprawled position. The goblins froze, some ceasing their frolicking mid-air, as he stalked out of the room, before falling back to the ground to play with the wee babe.

Jareth swept through the hallways of his castle until he reached what had once been his Escher room. While it had at one time been a cherished place to come where he could think in peace and quiet away from the goblins, he had not entered it in eight years. Now, all these years later, the room lay in shambles, it's gravity-defying structures nothing more than unrecognisable piles of rubble.

He hissed out a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding as he stood in the room for the first time since _she_ had laid siege to the castle beyond the goblin city; Jareth had never been defeated by a runner, not once in the history of his reign, and he was unaccustomed to dealing with the sensations that accompanied loss. He was angry and ashamed that a mere human had bested him, but beyond that, buried somewhere so deep that he was unable to decipher the feeling, he was hurt. He had offered her everything, offered to be her slave, and the stupid chit had thrown it all in his face and torn his castle apart.

He smiled darkly in the gloom and destruction as he stooped to pick up a handful of fine dust. "You should have accepted my offer, Precious thing," he drawled as the particles slid from between his gloved fingers and floated away on a non-existent breeze.


End file.
